


Three firefighters, a cowboy, Eddie and Chris walk into a fire station ...

by firstdegreefangirl



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, First Meetings, Found Family, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Gift Exchange, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Trick or Treat 2020, Trick or Treat: Treat, Trick or Treating, eddie is still in academy, finding family?, for sy's needy ass, halloween party, we'll go with it, well -- pre-found family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27306313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstdegreefangirl/pseuds/firstdegreefangirl
Summary: Eddie shifts his focus to the flashing red and blue lights in the station’s driveway, remembers sitting in the LAFD academy and hearing his instructor talking about how community outreach is just as much a part of their job as fighting fires.Or, Eddie and Chris go to a Halloween party at the 118.
Relationships: Christopher Diaz & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley & Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 178
Collections: Buddie Trick or Treat





	Three firefighters, a cowboy, Eddie and Chris walk into a fire station ...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashpup/gifts).



> This is my take on Sy's wishlist for the Halloween Trick or Treat exchange. What a delight to get to make something so fun for such a delightful and fun person! Hopefully y'all have as much fun reading it as I did putting this together.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

Eddie steps down from the truck, turning around to make sure Chris is steady on his feet as he slides out of his car seat. He kneels down and holds the bottom of Chris’ costume open, relishing in the way his fingers curl around Eddie’s shoulder as he holds on for balance while he steps into the legs. 

He stands up and steps back, remembering what everyone has told him about fostering independence and letting Chris try things on his own before he jumps in to help. From here, there’s a good chance that Chris can finish getting ready by himself, so Eddie leans back into the truck and digs his own prop from under the seat. If he stays hunched into the cab of the truck for a little longer than strictly necessary, it’s just because he knows that Chris feels bad if he thinks he’s taking too long to do something. 

Eddie would wait forever, if it meant he could see the way pride spreads across his son’s face, how excited he gets with every achievement, no matter how small. He’s tried to remember his own days as a 7-year-old, but he doesn't think he’s ever been as enthusiastic as Christopher is. So he gives him a little extra time, lets him go at his own pace, until he hears a few frustrated grunts. 

“Doing OK, kiddo?” He stands up and turns around to see Chris struggling with his costume. 

“I can’t get it to plug!” There’s frustration lacing his tone, so Eddie is careful to sound empathetic as he bends down and offers to help. He lets Chris fumble with it a moment longer before agreeing, then reaches for the nozzle. 

“Want it a little puffier too?” When Chris nods, Eddie takes a couple of deep breaths and finishes inflating the plastic before he pushes the little plug closed. “How’s that?” 

Chris grins at him, so he stands up and adjusts the straps over his son’s shoulders, balancing the little bit of weight evenly around him. He checks that there’s enough room on either side for his crutches – even though they’d already tried it out at the store, and again in the living room – and ruffles his hair as they set off down the sidewalk. 

It’s only a couple of blocks between the city parking lot and the front of the fire station, where Eddie can already see a small crowd mingling. Christopher plods along next to him, the added bulk of his costume slowing him down a little bit. Eddie looks to make sure he’s not getting ahead of his son, but he can hear the swishing sound with every step, so it’s mostly an excuse to marvel at his creative spirit. 

Sure, they sell it at the store, but only his son would be this excited for his costume, a smile threatening to split his face in two. He remembers the way the lady next to them had stared, how she’d interrupted to try and steer Chris toward a more traditional costume. But he also remembers how he hadn’t even gotten the chance to reply before Chris was telling the stranger that he “wants a costume that’s unique, just like I am!” 

It’s maybe his proudest parenting moment to date. 

But he can’t think about it for too long, because he has to look ahead and make sure he doesn't trip over anything. So Eddie shifts his focus to the flashing red and blue lights in the station’s driveway, remembers sitting in the LAFD academy and hearing his instructor talking about how community outreach is just as much a part of their job as fighting fires. 

He’d thought it sounded like bunk at the time, and even now it feels like Halloween parties should be an afterthought to emergency response. But he has to admit, as they get close enough to hear the noise coming from the driveway, bright and excited, undercut by spooky music, that he’s looking forward to getting to be a part of this. 

He doesn’t have a station assignment yet, but he should hear soon. And hopefully, he’ll land somewhere that’s as excited about the holidays as this house – the 118, according to the front of the ladder truck – seems to be. 

_Next year_ , he thinks, taking a second to soak it all in. Next year, he’ll get to bring this kind of positivity to his community. 

And for tonight? He’ll watch his kid join in the festivities. The flyer in his homework folder had promised candy, games, apple cider, the whole nine yards for the kids. And, for parents’ peace of mind, the LAPD was setting up shop at firehouses around the city and offering free candy inspections, warding off the news reports about razor blades and dime bags turning up in Halloween pillowcases. 

The 118 is close to the little house he’d found, and in the direction of Chris’ school. However it plays out, he’ll make it work, but as he stares at the building in front of him, he can’t help picturing himself walking in, sitting in the truck as it pulls away, roaring toward whatever emergency is next. 

He’s shaken out of the preemptive nostalgia, though, with the realization that he can’t hear Chris walking next to him anymore. He hasn’t fallen too far behind, but they got close enough for Chris to see the firetruck ahead of them and he’d darted, calling belatedly over his shoulder to announce to Eddie that the lights are turned on. 

“Chris! Christopher, wait up!” Eddie shouts after him, breaking into a light jog as he keeps calling his son’s name. He finally catches up when Chris skids to a stop in front of a candy bowl. “Christopher Diaz. You know you’re not supposed to take off like that. You wait, and we go together.” 

“Sorry, Dad.” He hangs his head, as best as he can around the costume, and he looks so chastised that for a moment, Eddie feels bad. But he remembers how much worse he’d feel if something horrible happened to his kid, and he makes himself get over the pang of guilt. 

“It’s OK, just do better next time or we’ll go home early, OK?” When Chris nods, Eddie presses a kiss into his hair before they turn to face the table with the candy bowl. 

There are only a couple of steps to clear before they reach the edge of the table, Chris practically vibrating with excitement next to Eddie. The man on the other side is dressed in full LAFD turnout gear, a large plastic spider clipped to the brim of his hat. Eddie guesses that it’s supposed to be his attempt at a costume that makes him easily recognizable as part of the team working at this station. It’s also convenient if they get a call, he supposes, but Christopher doesn’t seem to have noticed any lack of effort as he bounces on his crutches. 

“Trick or treat!” He sticks his plastic pumpkin out in front of him. “My dad says I'm not allowed to take candy from strangers, so I’m Chris. What’s your name?” The firefighter laughs when Chris pauses to suck in a breath, completely out of air after his outburst. 

“I’m Firefighter Han,” he smiles and bends down just enough to be at Chris’ level. “And your dad is right, but first responders are a special kind of stranger. We’re here to help people, not hurt them like some strangers.” 

“Dad!” The life lesson goes right over Chris’ head as he whirls around. “That’s Firefighter Han! He’s not a stranger; can I have candy?” 

Eddie laughs too. 

“Yes, but only because he’s right about being a special stranger. Firefighters are OK.” 

“Like you, Dad! You’re gonna be a special stranger. But not for me; I know you.” Chris beams, then turns back toward Han. 

“He is? That’s awesome!” When he looks up at Eddie though, the other man must register the discomfort on his face. He’s not here to suck up or anything, just make some memories with his kid. There’s a time and a place for professional networking, and this isn’t it. Which Han seems to pick up on, because he turns the conversation back to Chris and asks about his costume. 

“I’m an ostrich tamer!” Eddie looks down at him, trying to imagine the situation as an outsider. Chris is wearing an inflatable ostrich, with a pair of plastic legs hanging from the sides to make it look like he’s balanced atop the bird’s back. He’s holding onto bright red ribbon reins, a matching plastic cowboy hat dangling around his neck where it slid off of his curls. 

Ostrich tamer is as good a guess as any, but Eddie would give anything to know what Han had thought Chris was dressed up as. 

“Ostri- of course you are. Now I see it. Hang on,” he turns to shout over his shoulder at a couple other firefighters milling about, also dressed in their turnout gear. “Hen! Bobby! C’mere, you’ll love this one!” 

They jog over, and it’s only then that Eddie sees the captain – easily recognizable by the stripes on his jacket sleeve – has his face painted like a skeleton. He guesses that this is Bobby, squatting down to shake Christopher’s hand. When he stands back up, he misjudges the distance, though, and knocks his helmet askew when he hits it against the ostrich beak. Everybody laughs, and Han reaches over to swat it back the other direction. 

“Thanks, Chim,” Bobby rolls his eyes and Eddie makes a mental note of the name. It’s not a traditional name, by any means, but it feels more natural than calling him by his last name. Besides, maybe it’s short for something? 

He doesn’t pay it any more mind, though, because Chris is begging for his phone to take a picture with the “real, live firefighters, Dad!” 

“Well, mostly alive,” the woman who must be Hen laughs, pointing at Bobby’s face. All five of them pile together for a selfie, the adults half-crouching to fit everyone’s faces in the frame. It strikes Eddie how naturally the three of them work together, moving around to make room without even having to ask. But they’re still teasing each other, poking fun and laughing together. 

Wherever he lands, Eddie can only hope to get along that well with his new coworkers. 

The group breaks up, and Eddie goes to put his phone back in his pocket. He aborts the move halfway through, holding the device awkwardly in front of him. 

“Would, uh, would one of you mind getting a picture of the two of us?” He feels uncomfortable asking, but he doesn’t have enough pictures with Chris that aren’t selfies. So he swallows against his hesitation and looks at the three firefighters around him. 

“Sure,” Bobby grins and it puts him at ease. He wonders if the other man has kids, has maybe been where he is, just trying to document the memories he’s making. “Chim? Hen? You're better at this than I am.” 

They step forward at the same time, both reaching for Eddie’s phone. When Chim shuffles ahead to beat Hen to the punch, she nudges him playfully out of the way and makes a comment about having more Instagram followers. 

“Quality, not quantity, Wilson!” Chim retorts. “I have a small, but dedicated, loyal fanbase!” 

“For what, sunsets and pictures of your food?” 

Eddie hasn’t seen Chim’s profile, but from the way he stops in his tracks, he guesses that Hen must have hit the nail on the head. While he’s scrambling for a response, she plucks the phone out of Eddie’s hand. 

“Alright, you two. Smile, and say ‘trick or treat!’” She waits for Eddie to crouch down and wrap his arm around Chris’ middle, then he sees the flash flicker three times. When he stands up to take the phone, she steers them over to the giant plastic cauldron Chim had called her away from a few minutes before. She stirs the contents around before offering up two plastic cups full of apple cider. 

Eddie waits for Chris to take a couple of sips, taking the cup when Chris holds it out. As it is, he’s got his pumpkin looped around his arm, and the inflatable legs are making it harder for him to walk and balance on his crutches. 

He only lets Eddie hold the beverage until they get to the next activity, though, demanding it back as soon as they’ve taken a place in the line for the ring toss. He holds it in both hands, slurping eagerly while he waits his turn. Eddie watches him drink, sipping at his own cider, until they get to the front of the line. 

“Want me to hang onto that, bud? Might be easier for you to play if you’ve got both hands.” It’s a logical suggestion, Eddie thinks, given that he’s about to be given six plastic rings to hold, plus the cup already in his hand. 

“I’ve _got it,_ Dad!” His eyes roll hard enough that Eddie wonders when his 7-year-old shot up to 17 without his noticing. 

“Alright, alright,” Eddie holds his hands up and steps back. “You’ve got it, situation is under control, loud and clear.” 

The kid ahead of them – dressed as what Eddie can only assume is a video game character, even though he really has no idea - tosses his last ring, narrowly missing one of the miniature witches’ brooms that are set up as targets. He stomps off, the sounds of his mother trying to comfort him fading out as they walk away. 

“Hey, little man!” Someone crouches down in front of Chris, and Eddie’s paternal instincts kick in. He takes a half-step forward, to where he can jump in front of the stranger if he tries to pull anything. Eddie looks closer, taking in his appearance. 

He’s dressed in the most elaborate Woody costume Eddie has ever seen, a near-perfect replica of the movie character. Eddie’s hackles recede when he sees that in place of a sheriff's star, he’s pinned an LAFD badge. 

_He’s running the game; he’s a firefighter._

And a good-looking one, at that. Eddie’s never been better than noticing someone’s appearance. Especially when that someone is filling out his yellow checked shirt better than he has any right to. 

(Come to think of it, that particular shade shouldn’t look good on _anyone,_ and should be absolutely garish with the cowskin vest on top, but he makes that work too). 

There’s a pinkish birthmark smeared over one eye, and it crinkles up as he smiles at Chris. 

“I’m Chistopher Diaz!” He beams, holding a hand out for the man to shake. 

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Christopher Diaz! Usually, I’m Firefighter Buck, but today, I’m Sheriff Woody.” He’s not doing a character voice, but his unfettered enthusiasm sells the role better than even the best impression could. He asks Chris about his costume, and laughs so hard at the response that Eddie is worried he’s going to fall over backwards. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen all night, Christopher Diaz, I’ve got to tell you. Hey, you want to take these rings, see if you can’t hit one of the brooms over there?” 

Chris beams, letting Buck loop the rings over his wrist before he stands up. He marches up to the line and chucks the first ring. It wobbles through the air and bounces off of the broom furthest to the back. 

“Good first try!” Eddie calls to him, watching his son stare at the second ring. Concentration is clear on his face as he tries to figure out how to go about his next throw, but Eddie diverts his attention when a hand lands on his shoulder. He turns toward the contact and sees that Buck has wandered over to stand next to him. 

“Hey, are those … paper towels?” He points at the roll in Eddie’s hand and raises an eyebrow. 

“Um, yeah,” Eddie hesitates, looking down at his red and black flannel and jeans. “I’m the Brawny man.” 

Suddenly, he’s self conscious at the way he can feel Buck’s eyes raking up and down his body. He hadn’t meant anything by the costume, other than to come up with an idea that was low-cost but didn’t look like he was copping out. After all, not everyone has a full set of turnout gear hanging in a locker. 

He’ll have to table “firefighter” for next year’s costume. 

So today, he’s wearing clothes he already owns, comfortable clothes that didn’t cost him a dime, and carrying around a roll of paper towels in an effort to make his costume more recognizable. And either it hasn’t worked, or Buck is judging him for some other reason. 

“That’s … genius, actually.” He nods, seemingly impressed, even if Eddie can’t figure out why. “I mean, it’s creative – no one else is going to come up with dressing as the Brawny man for Halloween – and you get to wear your own clothes. That shirt looks way more comfortable than some itchy polyester from the costume store.” 

Buck wiggles his shoulders around, and Eddie wonders abruptly if _he’s_ wearing an itchy polyester shirt. 

“It’s practical, too,” he says, pushing the thought out of his head. “Single dad, y’know I don’t get a purse or anything. This way, I’ve got napkins built in, just in case he spills something on himself.” 

“Even better; way to plan ahead.” 

Eddie nods. 

“Last year it was cocoa, but tonight my money is on the ci-” 

But he doesn’t get to finish his thought, before a loud cry startles both men. 

“Daaaaaaad! I got a little cider on the floor.” Eddie and Buck move in tandem, turning to look at Chris, the hand that had been holding his cup now hanging loose at his side. “And a lot on my shirt.” 

“See?” Eddie sighs, already clearing the distance between them as he calls to Buck over his shoulder before he bends down, balancing himself with one knee on the pavement. 

“It’s alright, bud,” he soothes, tearing a paper towel from his roll and using it to blot at the large wet spot blossoming on Chris’ shirt. “You’ve only got to wear it today, right? Spills happen, but at least this year it’s not hot enough to hurt you, huh?” 

He finishes drying up as much of the liquid as he can, relinquishing the last drink from his own cup so Christopher can have a little bit more cider. When the damage control is done, Eddie asks if he’s thrown all of his rings yet. There’s still one more in his hand, so Eddie steps back and watches him flick his wrist. 

It’s not a perfect throw, the ring still teetering precariously through the air. But it flies forward until it drops, landing around one of the little brooms. Eddie is still holding the bundle of soggy paper towels, the roll clamped under his arm, so his applause is muffled, but he cheers anyway. Buck is clapping too; he can hear the noise behind him when Chris starts jumping up and down in his excitement. 

Just as the initial thrill of his toss has worn off, Buck steps forward with an upside down fireman’s hat full of candy, and Chris remembers that he gets a prize. He stares at the options, carefully considering which one he wants to pick, before reaching for a Twix bar. It thumps against the rest of the candy in his pumpkin, but Buck stops him before he can turn away. 

“Hey, Christopher Diaz!” His eyes sparkle as he uses the full name, and Eddie wonders if he’s this enthusiastic about everything, or if something about his kid stands out. He’s not sure which one he’s hoping for, but it stops mattering when Buck shovels another big handful of candy into the top of the container. His hand hardly fits into the opening, but he manages not to drop anything as he continues. “Remember how I said you’ve got the best costume I’ve seen tonight? How about a little something extra, just for that?” 

Chris’ jaw falls open, and Buck laughs as he reminds him that he’s earned it, for having such a cool costume. He starts to stand up, but first looks up at Eddie over Chris’ shoulder and winks. 

_He definitely isn’t doing_ **_that_ ** _for everyone here,_ Eddie thinks, trying to ignore the way his stomach flips at the way Buck's birthmark scrunches up as his eye closes and reopens. 

“Dad! Dad, are you listening?” He wasn’t, but he doesn’t want to lie to his kid, so he looks down and smiles at him. 

“I am now, bud. What’s up?” 

“Can we take another picture? B-” he hesitates, trying to remember a name he’d only heard once. “Firefighter Woody wasn’t in the first one!” 

“Close enough,” Buck shrugs and laughs again as Eddie pulls his phone out. 

Chris beams, his effusive joy hitting Buck and Eddie too, as they crouch down next to him. Buck throws a long arm across Chris’ shoulders, reaching almost halfway across Eddie’s back too, his touch warm even though the flannel as they all grin and wait for the flicker of the flash across the screen. 

Eddie doesn’t even have to look at the picture to know he’ll be printing it out for the fridge. Anything where Chris is smiling that big deserves a spot front and center. 

The rest of the party goes by in a whirlwind, games and booths and candy. They circle the neighborhood on foot, stopping at every house with a light on. By the time they’re ready to call it a night, Chris’ pumpkin is hanging from Eddie’s wrist, filled to the brim, and his little ostrich tamer is reduced to a sleepy trudge back to the truck. He’s all but dead weight as Eddie strips away the inflatable shell and hoists him into the car seat. The drive home is quiet, the sugar rush fading away and bedtime hours behind them. 

When they get home, Chris doesn’t even try to put his feet on the ground. It’s been a sticking point lately, that he can walk on his own, even as Eddie tries to savor every last day that he’s able to carry his son around. So he’s not going to comment tonight, when Chris locks his ankles around Eddie’s middle and drapes himself across his chest. He just shifts his hold, leaning Chris’ weight against one side so he can close the truck door. 

He carries Chris down the driveway first, to pull the mail out of the box, and tries to flip through the envelopes with one hand before he has to dig his keys back out of his pocket and unlock the front door. 

(Someday, he’ll remember not to pocket the keychain for the 20 steps up and down the driveway, but it’s a habit that has yet to stick). 

Inside the house, he tosses the mail on the table and drops the pumpkin down beside it on the way toward the living room. Reluctantly, he settles Chris on the couch and squats in front of him, jostling his legs gently. 

“Alright, Ostrich Boy,” he teases when Chris’ eyes flutter open. “C’mon, quick bath so you’re not all sticky, then jammies and bed.” He’s so tired that he doesn’t even put up a fight when Eddie tugs his shirt over his head and steers him down the hall to the bathroom. The tub fills, and Eddie pulls his own shirt off, quickly finding enough towels and pillowcases to fill out a small load. He settles Chris in the tub while he starts the washer, then comes back long enough to wipe a wet washcloth quickly across his own chest. 

With both of them cleaned off, any leftover cider residue swirling down the drain, Eddie fishes Chris out of the tub and wrangles him into some fresh PJs. He tucks his son into bed, dropping a gentle kiss on his forehead and leaving the door open just a crack on his way out, so there’s a sliver of light until Eddie goes to bed and flips the switch in the hallway. 

Eddie stumbles back down the hallway, almost as exhausted as Chris had been, and picks a mini Snickers bar off of the top of Chris’ pumpkin. He drops onto the couch long enough to tear the wrapper open and pop the entire thing in his mouth, then drags himself back down the hall to his own bed. He trades his jeans for sweats and swipes his toothbrush across his teeth before settling under the covers. 

He’s got to be up early tomorrow, in time to make Chris his special day-after-Halloween pancakes, and he’s wiped out after a full day of academy training and trick-or-treat after, so it’s not long before Eddie is fast asleep, sprawled across the mattress. 

The next thing he knows, sunlight is streaming through the windows and his phone is vibrating against the bedside table. He rolls through his workout and heads out to the kitchen. Eddie has never claimed to be particularly capable in the kitchen, but he can handle a box of Bisquick, and every year he takes some of Chris’ Halloween candy to chop up and stir into the batter. It’s as much a tradition as the trick-or-treating itself, and Eddie find himself smiling as he whisks the milk into the powdered mix. 

He burns the first couple of pancakes – he _always_ burns the first couple of pancakes – but once the burner is adjusted and he’s got some more batter swirled into neat circles, Eddie steps away to wait until it’s time to flip them over. Yesterday’s mail is still sitting on the table, so he reaches for it and starts thumbing through the envelopes. 

_Junk. Junk. Coupons. Gas bill. Junk._ _Junk. Junk._

But the next envelope catches his eye, a distinctive bright red seal in the top left corner. It’s from the LAFD, something official looking, from the way it’s marked _return service requested_ and _do not bend._

He flips it over, tearing across the top of the envelope, careful not to damage whatever’s inside. A letter shakes out into his hand, and he unfolds the neat thirds to read from the beginning. 

_Edmu_ _ndo Diaz,_ it begins, _it is with great pride that we_ _congratulate_ _you on your upcoming graduation from the Los Angeles Fire Department Academy._

Eddie sighs, already bored by the formulaic enthusiasm on the page. He skims ahead far enough to realize that it’s his station assignment, then skips to the end of the letter. 

_Beginning on Monday, November 12, you will report to the 118_ _th_ _Station House, under the command of Captain Robert Nash, for your probationary period._

There's more information to read, he’s sure, but as soon as he lays eyes on the number, it’s practically jumping off the page at him. 

He’s been assigned to the 118. He’s going to work with the firefighters he’d met last night, find his place in their little family. 

Eddie doesn’t even try to keep the grin off of his face as he turns around, reaching for one of the plastic letter magnets on the refrigerator to hang his assignment proudly. The stove catches his attention out the corner of his eye, and suddenly he remembers that he’s supposed to be making pancakes. When he grabs for the spatula, they’re burned almost to black, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

He just scrapes the batter out of the pan and pours another spoonful of batter. This time, he watches the bubbles more closely while his mind wanders to what his future might look like with the 118. 

He flips the pancakes over, perfectly golden brown, as he’s stricken with his most exciting realization yet. 

_Now he’ll have the chance to find out what that wink was all about._

**Author's Note:**

> Chris' costume, by the way, really exists: https://www.partycity.com/child-inflatable-illusion-ostrich-ride-on-costume-P314583.html
> 
> And with that, we start Christmas fics! Drop motivation down below; I've got a LOT planned.


End file.
